The Punisher Watches the Watchmen
by DarkwingDude
Summary: *Spoilers for Watchmen universe* In an alternate universe with all DC and Marvel comic characters sharing a universe, the Punisher makes his way to Ozymandias' Antarctic base in time to see the cruel chessmaster's plan come to fruition. What follows is a what-if... what would happen if Ozy met someone who REALLY wanted him to be held accountable for his actions?


By: Darkwing Dude

End of the world. That's where I was. Sea of white on all sides, wind tearing at the skin. Nature inhospitable, promising death at any turn. No human laws, no promise of safety.

Home.

Not my home, mind you. Not my weather either. But I still feel like I belong here. Antarctica they say is the last great frontier. It's just another Hell on Earth for me. And I should know Hell. I've sent enough people there over the years.

Hiding in Archie seems to have proved valuable. I had been staking out Adrian Veidt's offices for days, trying to piece together a few loose ends. Man I knew from back in Vietnam had ended up dead. Went by the name The Comedian. He did some special ops with my unit in 1971 in the waning days of the war, before Dr. Manhattan showed up and stopped everything.

Not a very agreeable person; didn't always agree with his methods. Had a bad attitude about the Vietnamese, not just commies but the whole race. But he saved my life. Firefight in Khe Sahn almost ended my story prematurely, but out steps the Comedian, cackling like a madman, letting his flamethrower doing the talking. When the smoke cleared, twenty VC where cooked and I was still standing.

A few weeks back, someone sent him out the window of his New York apartment face first. Probably laughed at the wrong enemy – in this line of work, you make a lot of them. But regardless of his faults, he was a hero, and he had rescued me, and now he was dead. I felt I owed him to at least punish his murderer.

Walking through the desolate snow, the building's outer perimeter in the distance, I started to retrace my steps. It started with Moloch, a former gangster long since retired. Didn't have the heart to punish him, seeing as he was reformed. Useful source of information on some occasions, too. Seems I wasn't the only one visiting him either. Earlier that night, Rorschach had stopped by. I got the same story he did – the Comedian, drunk, wandered in mumbling about a conspiracy. Someone had gathered writers and scientists to an island somewhere to do something. Some sort of major criminal plot. Unbelievable consequences.

Couldn't have that.

Did some research. Looked into the island that Comedian had mentioned. I put some pieces together, thanks to Micro's hacking expertise. A bunch of famous people had been gathered together on an island in the South Pacific to plan an independent movie. Seemed a bit extravagant for a movie studio to keep things that much under wraps. Movie moguls like to keep their productions close where their lackeys can spy on the work, make sure everything's running smoothly. Nobody is that charitable with their money.

Didn't take too much work to connect the dots and find their benefactor. You can launder your money through a thousand dummy companies, but sooner or later, you can follow the stench back to the source. I decided to make a stop at the Baxter Building on my way over to destination, borrowing a few toys from Reed Richards. Brought some of my own as well.

Can spot Nite Owl and Rorschach's flying scooters now. Probably have been inside for some time now. Good, whatever's going on inside, it's been going on for a while. They'll be busy, won't notice another person coming in.

Adrian Veidt once went by the name Ozymandias. Fancied himself an intelligent crime fighter, but he lost his taste for it and went public in '75, building an empire based on his image. Ozymandias lunch boxes. Ozymandias t-shirts. Ozymandias video games. Hell, probably even Ozymandias douche bags.

I was in his office building, doing some recon when two costumed adventurers showed up as well. Didn't have time to snatch any of the evidence, left Ozymandias' journal on the desk. Hiding in the dark, I overheard Nite Owl and Rorschach's conversation. They confirmed my suspicions. Veidt was behind it.

Decided to tag along on their journey to his lair. Been meaning to talk with Rorschach anyway. No problem with his main targets, but I didn't like the way he was collecting information. Threatening to kill a stoolie was one thing, I did it all the time. But the threat works. No need to snap the fingers of people you're interrogating if they're not guilty, that's taking the interrogation too far.

Punishment is for the guilty, never for the innocent.

I managed to sneak aboard Nite Owl's airship Archie fairly easily. Nite Owl puts too much faith in his toys, too trusting of technology. Just snuggled down for a long trip in the storage hold all the way to the South Pole.

Karnak. I was here. Veidt had built a fortress in the snow, his own fortress of solitude. Wealth brings comfort to evil, removes it from the realities of its actions. The most successful evil wrap themselves in symbols of power and culture, idling away the days far removed from their actions. Destroying lives while drinking the finest wine, planning massacres under the veneer of business and duty.

The guilty seek to avoid retribution for their actions. They don't have remorse. They surround themselves with material things as a crutch, but they can't escape their fates. Sooner or later they face punishment for their actions.

And that's why they call me the Punisher.

A lifetime ago, I was once Frank Castle. But Castle died along with his family one afternoon in the 1970s, one terrible day in Central Park. My wife Maria, my son Frank Junior, my daughter Christie. A cruel twist of fate delivered us into a mob rubout.

The day Castle died was the day I was born. And unlike most newborns, I was born fully aware of how the world works. The cruel ironies, the bitter injustices. I was born knowing my purpose. The laws of man were inadequate for reprimanding the truly evil. The powerful and devious that use every facility in their power to avoid justice. But I know their deeds, and am not hampered by namby-pamby words. I am justice. I am wrath. I am the punisher.

Entering the facility, I'm greeted with the trappings of power. The building is adorned with both fine art and various technical devices which I'm sure I have no idea what they're here for. An oasis in the middle of the desert.

A fort in a storm.

Voices. Military training takes over. Four tours in Vietnam move my actions as I hide amongst Veidt's toys. Dropping my duffel bag, I open it up to examine the contents. Small arms, various explosives, plus those objects I grabbed from the Baxter Building. I'm sure the Fantastic Four won't mind; they're over in Latveria dealing with Dr. Doom.

I looked and saw Ozymandias, chatting with Nite Owl and Rorschach.

Gonna have to be careful, avoid endangering them. My business was with Veidt. Had to find out what he was up to before he did something stupid.

"Very well," Veidt said, seemingly annoyed. "I engineered a monster, cloned its brain from a psychic, sent it to New York and killed half the city."

What?

What followed next was a cacophony of confusion. Nite Owl and Rorschach arguing with Ozymandias about his words, him explaining his insane rantings with the utmost calm and clarity. I tried to think about what he said, but no, it was too much. Too much to be true. That's the sort of absurd statement you hear children make.

Suddenly, Ozymandias left the room and two new people arrived on the scene. I recognized Dr. Manhattan immediately. How could anyone not? And was that Silk Spectre with him? A superhero convention. Great.

Soon screaming, sounds of a gunshot. Gonna have to swing into action. I open up the bag to collect the materials I'll need, preparing for battle. An explosion, and then… a giant Dr. Manhattan? He towers over Ozymandias, and then shrinks down, engaging him in conversation. Too much talking here, not enough action.

Then, Ozymandias turns on the television and the world turns insane. Images of some inhuman monster, thousands, no, millions dead in the streets. No! This can't be! The crime… unimaginable! Must… have to… no!

"I did it!" Ozymandias screams, the glow from the television screens bathing him in the carnage.

He did it. The innocent… the uncountable innocent. The innocent have been punished! HE HAS PUNISHED THE INNOCENT! A city full of Marias, Frank Jr.s and Christies, murdered.

Words. He speaks. They speak. He tells them they can't tell anyone what he's done. Some disagreement. Dr. Manhattan and Silk Spectre confirm the massacre happened. Not a trick. No screaming. What? How can this be their reaction? They're actually considering his offer! No, not all. Rorschach disagrees. He leaves. Dr. Manhattan follows. Good.

Can't stand it any longer. Whatever good he did in the past, a world with Adrian "Ozymandias" Veidt in it was no world of justice. I already knew my plan, in fact, I had prepared for this eventuality, no matter how unthinkable it was to believe Ozymandias could be behind this. I just had to decide when to implement it.

Cramped. Yeah, that's an understatement. Pressed into the storage area, with lots of scientific junk and modern art stacked around me, I felt like I belonged in an exhibit.

Riding inside Ozymandias's personal aircraft, rocketing back toward the U.S., the images began to haunt me. The dead, the dying, that horrible monster in the center of it all. And the horrible monster still alive, piloting this vessel. His words entered and left my mind in sound bytes. Mostly I heard excuses. Arguments. Bullshit.

I'm not surprised when the door opens about ten minutes into the flight, and Veidt steps in, still dressed in his gaudy costume. His every step trumpets confidence, each glance screaming pride.

"You can come out, whoever you are," he says, arms crossed. "I know someone's in here. Have known since we took off. Have the ship on autopilot, so I have all day to find you. Rorschach, if it's you, you might as well come out if you don't want your ass handed to you again…"

I play coy. Before the other day, I never saw him when he wasn't posing for the cameras or wrapping himself up in his own indulgences. Only saw the figure, never the man. In person, he seems shockingly normal. But he's not. He could kill me easily in a fight.

He wasn't getting angry, more insulted than anything. I wasn't playing fair. Not giving him the attention he was used to as a celebrity. Not giving him his entitlements. I hardly ever smile, often can't find much in this world worth smiling over. Never knew how The Comedian could do it. Regardless, even I was a little surprised to find a small grin crossing my lips.

Decided it was time to show myself. Stepping out from my hiding place, my bag in hand, I gave Veidt a brief wave.

"The Punisher?" Veidt asked. "What are you doing… No, can't be too surprised. I guess I should have known more than a couple people would have stumbled on this. No matter. You're just in time to share in the glorious new era I have initiated."

He talked. He talked too much. The same lies that came from Hitler, Stalin, Johnson, Nixon and a thousand other leaders from history, about the necessity of evil for a greater good. The sick justification of what cannot be justified. I would not be moved.

The blowhard was still going. "…I was meditating on works of Machiavelli when I decided that only with a great act such as this could I truly bring order and stability…"

"Shut up," I said, looking through him.

He was quite perturbed. "Excuse me?"

"I said shut up. You're no hero. No person of great enlightenment. You came running to you little hiding place so you wouldn't have to look at your handiwork firsthand. I saw the images on television. I heard you gloating to the others back at your Antarctic shithole. I know what you did. You're guilty Veidt, and you're dead."

"Don't be a fool Punisher," Veidt said. "If you tell the world what's happened here, what do you think will happen?"

I started walking, going around him and out the door. He's more shocked than anything and lets me talk. He thinks he's indulging my ego. He's probably right. "More of that same. That doesn't make no difference to me. The same rules that apply there apply here." I start to walk towards him. "And you don't get to talk your way out of this."

He followed me out into the fuselage, a large, mostly empty tomb of area. Guess he doesn't use this aircraft for entertaining much, no need for passenger spots. This will do nicely.

Infuriated, he took a defensive position. "I've decimated opponents far worse than you. I handed Rorschach his ass just yesterday. You think you can take me?"

I look him straight in the eye. "No Veidt, I don't. You're too good a fighter right now, even for me. Wouldn't be a fair fight."

Veidt's right eye lifted. "What do mean, right now?"

I ignored that for now, and pulled out my cellular phone. "You picked up the transmission, right? That's how you knew to come back here."

He nodded. "Yeah, something about forty minutes. Care to elaborate."

I cock me head sideways. "Yeah. In thirty minutes, my companion back in the states is going to make public your dirty little secrets. The payoffs, the dummy companies, your personal notes… everything that ties you to that monster you created."

I could see him go pale. He wanted to come over and kill me immediately, the desire to cover up his crime almost all-consuming. Almost. He was curious why I was telling him this. More so, he wanted to make sure his crime stayed covered. The only way to do that was to keep me talking. Keep me alive.

"You did your best to stay invisible Veidt, but everyone leaves a paper trail. And you're too egotistical not to add your own personal flourishes on things. Using your own company stationary to communicate with people. Tsk tsk Mr. Veidt. Tsk tsk."

"You're bluffing. You don't have any of that stuff."

I look him dead in the eyes again. "Am I? Do you honestly think I would go through all this trouble if I didn't have something like this planned?"

His hands turn into fists. "So what do you want?"

"It's very simple. I can call my friend back in thirty minutes and tell him to call off the whole thing. You win. That is, if you win."

I reach into my bag, and pull out a tubular brown paper sack. "If you want me to make that call, you have to play by my rules. I know I wasn't going to be able to sneak a gun into your craft, and I didn't want to. Knowing the enormity of your crime, you don't deserve a quick death. Three million dead bodies buys you extra pain."

He smirks. "I could just beat you into submission right now and make you call your friend."

"You know as well as I do that that won't work. You could break me into 100 pieces, and I'd still spit in you face and tell you to go to Hell. No Mr. Veidt, you don't want to take a chance. You're not a gambler, you want a sure bet. The only way to get it is if you play by my rules."

Bouncing the bag in my hand a few times in my hand, I toss it over to him. His reflexes are good. That's what I hope to fix. He opens the bag and pulls out its contents. His shock and confusion is understandable as he examines the glass bottle.

"Everclear, Mr. Veidt. 95% ethanol. Strongest stuff on the market. Hell, you can run a car on it."

He looks down at the bottle, then up at me. I look him dead in the eyes.

"Drink it."

He looks down again, his lip raised in puzzlement. That's not a look I'd expect to see on the face of the smartest man in the world.

"Sober, you're far too much a match for me. In fact, it wouldn't be a match at all. Before leaving for your base, I knew that if you were behind something evil, I might have to do something to dull your senses and skills. Didn't have any idea how big an evil you were involved in…"

"Evil?" Ozymandias said. "I made a hard choice, a difficult choice you couldn't possibly imagine or understand. Yes millions died, but think of the billions I saved! You come here, with your narrow-minded views on justice, talking to me about what I did was wrong. What have you ever done to put yourself in the same league as me? Your meaningless crusade may save an innocent person here and there, Castle. I saved the entire human race. Come tomorrow, mutually assured destruction and all the madness of nuclear confrontation will be over. I did that! Me!"

"For being the smartest person in the world, you sure are an idiot," I said. "Peace is fragile. Never lasts. Nothing ever lasts. You're just another dictator who thinks he can mold the world in his own image. One that places you at the top. You're no hero Ozymandias. You're an opportunist." I pause for a second, and then look at the bottle in his hand. "Even drunk, you should still be able to put up a fight. But you are going to fight me. Now drink that liquor, every single drop. Otherwise, the precious little utopia you have planned will already be gone before you ever step foot on land."

He stares at me, then down at the bottle.

"Tick-tock, Mr. Veidt. Twenty-five minutes now."

He exhales slightly, then pops the top and begins to down the bottle. His face scrunches up in disgust as the firewater travels down his throat. I could tell he wants to bash me over the head with the bottle, but he wants final victory even more. I'm the last thing standing in the way between him and getting away with it. The last loose end. He needs to tie it up now.

He shakes his head, the alcohol already circulating. He can feel his superhuman intellect dulling. Bringing it down a few notches. Bringing it down to my level.

His words are slurred, but still bitter. "I did it. Now, I'm going to break you Castle. Bring an end to your stupid one-man war on crime. Give you what you have coming."

I look at him, no emotion. "If you think you can stop your punishment, then give it your best shot."

Even drunk, Veidt moved like lightening. Wasn't expecting him to get to me so quick. I didn't even see the second punch, the pain of the first still burning on my chest. He attacked me surgically, punching and karate chopping me in all the usual places. My body became a symphony of pain, his uppercut whipping my head backwards like a Pez dispenser. He's faster than me, more skilled. I've fought tough opponents before. Spider-Man, Daredevil, Wolverine, The Russian, Jigsaw, Tombstone, hell, even Batman one. All of them did a number on me. All of them tried to beat me to a pulp. But none of them compared to this man. A punch to the face, a knee to the chest, he's about got me broken.

But my family beckons me in the back of my head, begging me to keep fighting. If I lose, then a horrible crime goes unpunished. "Fight him!" they tell between the blows. Blood poured from my face as Ozymandias did his best to break me. I can take it.

I'm a rock.

Veidt's arms are tired, no longer using martial arts moves. Just throwing punches now, trying to wear me down with brute force. His hands are bloody, I'm sure I must look like tenderized meat by now. I feel like I've been run over with a steamroller. Want to lie down and die, but if I do that, he wins. Evil wins.

My arms feel like lead weights for a moment, but only a moment. I throw a punch and he tries to block it, but I can't be stopped. Justice can't be stopped. My right fist slams into his left cheek, his face contorting in shock at the unbelievably of it. I know an egomaniac when I see one. He can't believe I've connected. He's angry now, throwing garbage at me, hoping sheer force will take me down where precision punches failed. He's mine.

I throw a punch into the solar plexus, followed by a haymaker across his face. My face is burning, brain screaming for attention. I ignore it. My whole world has become Ozymandias' pain. He's far enough away for me to kick out into his upped chest, and he gasps as he coughs out his breath in one burst. He fights to get air back in his lungs. I don't give him the chance.

Again and again, my hands hammer across his face, the crunching sounds of cheek bones fracturing and the sick crimson explosion of a broken nose telegraphing Veidt's agony. Even with his senses dulled by 190 proof alcohol he's never experienced pain such as this. I dish it out, getting in close and kicking his feet out from under him. He tries to quickly scramble up, but I keep him down.

His face suddenly makes itself an irresistible target, and I swing my leg back from leverage. Veidt quickly swings his arm forward to block, but his perception is off. Had it not been for the booze, he would have blocked my kick easily, but he swung his hand low and my foot sailed over it and directly into his forehead. He mouth contorted in agony and denial – how could that have happened, he seemed to be asking himself mentally. Mind and body were at war with each other, trying to pull together into a coherent force of reckoning. There was still a fight in him. That won't do.

Punishment can only work when the guilty has given up the fight. But taking that fight out of them was part of the pleasure.

Blood smearing in his eyes, he struggled to get to his feet, but I grabbed his shoulder when he was halfway up and jabbed him down in the gut. His hands shot up and one chop landed on my upper chest, my rib cage rattling under my skin. Fire shot through my nerves as I stepped back to steady myself, Veidt lunging forward with all the fury of an injured animal with nothing to lose.

"Gonna kill you Castle!" he said, blood running from his mouth and with only one eye unswollen. "Son of a bitch! Motherless bastard, I'll end you!"

He was wobbly as he approached but still moving at a respectable speed. Didn't have time to counter with anything fancy, so I extended my arm out to the side as I sidestepped him, clothes-lining him in the neck. His hands reach up and grabbed his throat, gasping like he had something clogged in there. I take advantage and repay him for his earlier treatment, using a few martial arts moves myself, include some kung fu strikes and a few judo chops. Not trying to discriminate, I even throw in a few old-fashioned hooks.

Despite the obvious pain, he manages to get his hands around my throat and squeezes. The darkness comes again, beckoning for me to find relief in unconsciousness, but I know it's a lie. That's not an escape, it's a failure.

He has me, no fair way to escape this. Luckily, I don't fight fair. My right hand grasps his face, thumb finding its way to his eye. I press in.

A sickening squish sound was followed by a howl as Ozymandias danced backward in misery. Knocking him to ground again, I grabbed his arm and stretched it out before shooting my foot into his armpit. A crackling noise signaled his shoulder's dislocation, and then my foot came down on his knee, shoving it backward.

I just stood there for a few moments watching him scream, writhing about like an ant frying under a magnifying glass. He screamed out curse words I never even heard before, the ground under him coated in crimson pools.

"I'm going to venture that I win," I said, hands across my chest.

"You fuck!" he spat out. "You fucking madman! You don't know what you've done."

My face mangled and throbbing in pain, I still manage to glare at him. "I know exactly what I've done; I put down a dangerous animal."

"You have the nerve to say that to me?" Veidt screamed, managing to sum up the will to articulate his point despite his pain. "Don't you get that, you stupid bastard, I saved mankind from extinction! The world will still exist tomorrow because of me! What have you ever done on that scale? What right do you have to judge my actions? What's three million lives compared to the whole of humanity? Or maybe that's the problem, that it was three million New Yorkers? If I killed that many people in Moscow, or Saigon, or Pyongyang, you wouldn't have cared!"

I couldn't kick his mouth fast enough at those words. Grabbing his hair, I lifted his face to mine.

"Now you listen to me, you worthless piece of shit. You killed three million people. People! I wouldn't care if they were Americans, Russians or Martians. That's crime that goes beyond any petty nationalism. And one you can't seem to feel bad about. I saw the way you celebrated when you saw those images on television. You're more concerned about stability than morality. People like you would have sent people to the gas chambers if you really thought that's what it took to save the world. You're a madman Veidt, and now you're finished."

He started off on the usual bullshit I'm used to hearing about how I'm the madman, simply because I do what the courts won't. Dragging him by his hair, his good arm and leg thrashing about trying to get hold on either me or latch onto the wall while the damaged one was knocked around by my shaking, I heard the screams of a desperate man. I wonder if anyone in New York screamed. I wonder if they cried. I wonder what they would have felt if they knew they were murdered by a coward who went to hide in his billion dollar playhouse while he left them all to die. I wonder if any of them cared that the world was now a *safer place*?

I open the latch on the side of the craft, gripping a railing as the pressure suddenly turns the chamber into a vacuum. We're a good 100 feet over the Atlantic Ocean, so there's a good chance he'll survive the fall. That's good. Every little bit of extended pain helps. He begs for his life. They all do. He tries to justify his crimes. They all do. He says some bad things about my mother.

They all do.

I don't push him out – I kick him as hard as I can. I watch him fall down, down, down… I can't imagine he'll last more than a minute in that water.

I click on my phone. "Micro? It's Frank. Yeah, he's gone. No, don't bother about that information now. Have a few things to take care of first."

******

Veidt was the main event, but I'm wrapping up loose ends now. Nite Owl and Silk Spectre are surprised to see me when I walk through their front door. I tend to have that effect on people. Had to look for a while, it appears Nite Owl had been planning for his stealthy getaway for a while. Looks like they had some plastic surgery done. Found them out west, trying to set up shop again under new disguises, Sam and Sandra Hollis. Cute. Decided to drop in on them at their house and have a chat.

"The Punisher!" Nite Owl shrieked.

"Holy shit!" Silk Spectre spat.

"You're both right," I said, setting down my bag. "You two have a few things to answer for."

Nite Owl winced. "We didn't have anything to do with what happened…"

I put my hand up. "I know you didn't order it. But you two kept quiet about it. Didn't do anything to expose the plot."

"It would be pointless!" Silk Spectre said. "We'd just revert the world back to the brink of nuclear annihilation. All those people would have died for nothing."

"They still died for nothing," I said. "You two couldn't have stopped that. But you didn't do anything to stop Veidt."

"We most certainly did!" Silk Spectre screamed. "I even shot the bastard. Didn't work though."

I shrugged. "Fair enough. But capitulating to his plan when you've both sworn to be heroes is inexcusable."

Nite Owl rolled his eyes. "You sound like Rorschach. He was a moral absolutist too. Unfortunately, the world doesn't work that way. Sometimes you have to make compromises if you want to do the greater good."

I raised an eyebrow. "Compromises are for politicians, not heroes," I said. "If you don't have the moral fortitude to stand for what's right, even if it has uncomfortable side effects, than you have no right to call yourself a hero."

Silk Specter did a double take. "You call nuclear war an 'uncomfortable side effect?' Where do you get off accusing us of anything?"

"I call the possibility of nuclear war an uncomfortable side effect. It remains to be seen if anyone has the balls to take it that far. Regardless, it's doubtful Veidt's scheme would have worked anyway. All alliances are fleeting. Peace never lasts. We're not meant to be a peaceful species; it's just not in our genes. Veidt felt he could change that, and like any hypocrite, used the very type of clandestine power struggles and madness he condemned. The Comedian, those artists and Hollywood people on that cruise ship, three million people in New York, hell, even Moloch. They were all expendable to him. Not even humans in his mindset. I doubt he even realized that though. Cognitive dissonance has a way of affecting madmen."

Nite Owl sputtered. "Look, we don't agree with what he did, okay? But since he did it, we don't want to make it worse. We're just trying to move on with our lives."

I look them dead in their eyes. "Stop crime fighting. You've soiled your reputations; don't deserve to purify the wicked anymore. I won't have you continue on if you're not willing to sacrifice your lives."

Silk Spectre grimaced. "What do you… Look, just because you're suicidal, doesn't mean the rest of us are! Maybe some of us actually want to survive this business."

"Wanting to live isn't a problem," I said. "Being unwilling to die for what you believe in is. And I'm not suicidal. I'm just willing to sacrifice myself if need be. Not that I have a death wish. I'd prefer to stay alive and keep punishing the guilty, but even I know that one day I may be put in a situation where I have to choose between my personal crusade, and doing the right thing. Neither of you demonstrated that in Antarctica. You'd prefer to live because you want to be together. Admirable if you're a romantic, but not if you're a crime fighter."

"No," Nite Owl said. "You can't make us quit. We're going to keep on fighting for what's right."

I saw Silk Spectre reaching into her purse for something. I looked her dead in the eyes. "If you reach for that gun, you and I are going to have a problem."

She ignored me, and whipped out her revolved. "Now you listen here! We're not going to be bullied by a psychotic like you! Now you get the hell out of here!"

"Very well, so be it," I said, resolved to carry out my duty. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out two MAC-10s, one for each hand, and leveled them on both of them.

Silk Spectre gasped and dropped her gun, not expecting this reaction from me. I look at them and see them for the cowards they are, and decide to do what's necessary. It's a stretch, but still permissible.

"Wait a minute!" Nite Owl said. "What do you think you're doing? We're the good guys!"

"No," I said. "You're troublemakers. You've covered up a crime before, which means you'll probably do it again. I can't have people in positions of respectability allowing dangerous criminals to go free just because they don't have the moral fortitude to do what's right. When push comes to shove, you two have demonstrated you'll choose comfort over justice. You don't deserve to live."

Silk Spectre started to cry and Nite Owl through up his hands, begging. "Wait! We just wanted there to be peace! We just wanted to live in a world that has stability! Isn't that what you want?"

Twin trails of blaze spat out from the barrels of my guns, chains of bullets spraying out from the firing chambers.

"No."

******

"You don't think you went too far, Frank?" Micro asked me, tinkering with a gun back in my Jersey safe house.

"It was a stretch," I said to him. "But still within my parameters. If they had just wanted to stay civilians, I would have let them live. But by being superheroes, they were too sullied and dangerous. They wanted to live, Micro. That was more important to them then justice. Having people like that be put in positions of authority is a dangerous thing. Heroes, if there even is such a thing anymore, have to stand for more than just selfish self-preservation. Justice exists regardless of comfort, or it doesn't exist at all."

Micro shrugged. I understand his hesitation. I lift up the bag and pull out a toy I acquired from the Baxter Building. It was shaped like a semicircle, about 3 inches in radius and maybe an inch thick.

Micro looked up from his work. "What's that?"

I lift it up to show him. "This is for Dr. Manhattan, if he ever returns to the Earth."

Micro was intrigued, putting the weapon down to face me. "Do tell."

"Ever wonder how the Fantastic Four beat Galactus?"

Micro looked thoughtful. "Yeah... but with Reed Richards, I probably wouldn't understand it."

"Sure you would," I said. "Richards had a gun, a weapon powerful enough to scare the planet-eater. It's called the 'ultimate nullifier'... Got it from the Watcher. It basically works like this. You think really hard about the target, envisioning it and all its details. The nullifier does the rest - takes you and your target. That's what Reed Richards understood about being a hero that Nite Owl, Silk Spectre and Dr. Manhattan did not. Sacrifice. Not that perverted form that Ozymandias concocted where he sacrificed others to get what he wanted. No, true selfless sacrifice. Richards was willing to die to protect others. So am I."

Micro looked down at my gun and back at me. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I can't get to Manhattan now. He's gone away, possibly to never return. But if he does return, I'll make sure he knows he's finished on this planet. I'll give him the same chance to give up his acts and just return where he came from. If he does not, I'm willing to use this. Willing to destroy him and myself. He's proven that he's not worthy to use his powers if he won't use them for anything other than his own selfishness."

Micro smirked. "If that's the case, I hope he never comes back. The world needs you Frank."

I look at Micro. "I know. But the world needs justice even more."

THE END


End file.
